Anima Inquisitione
by Mirena Tepes
Summary: A fanfic for the movie Unbroken about the life of Louis Zamperini, explaining what happened between the crash and nightfall.


"Anima Inquisitione"

Author's Note: I want to say that it was not my intention to write "Mac" in a negative light. He was a real person and he has my highest respect for serving and dying for his country. Also, I want say that, THIS IS NOT A SLASH FIC. I have no problem with people who enjoy that, but I don't. I don't want this fic to be interpreted that way. It's a story of brotherly love and friendship. I hope you enjoy. The title is Latin for "soul searching."

"I'm glad it's me too," Louis had whispered back, touched that Phil regarded him so highly. The three men had drifted into silence after that, Mac still holding the bandage in place against Phil's head. Louis had stayed close by the bleeding man's shoulder, not quite trusting Mac to keep an eye on his condition, but for the moment, he was doing a good job with the bandage, even as his haunted eyes drifted listlessly over the endless sea. This concerned Louis, but not near as much as Phil's head wound.

Even from his position behind his friend, he could still see the blood quickly staining Mac's shredded shirt and streaking Phil's bruised cheek a scarlet color, stark against his alarmingly pale complexion. He had been squeezing Phil's shoulder every time the man had slumped back, hoping to keep him awake for as long as possible. He was sure, that at the very least, his friend had a concussion, but he was going to have to try something else. The bleeding had been going on for too long.

"Mac, keep him awake." he ordered, before shrugging off his wet jacket. He then stripped off his own white tee shirt and proceeded to tear it into long stripes. Just as he tore the last strip, he felt Phil's head lifelessly loll back against his shoulder.

Snapping his head up, alarm filled him as he turned to see that his friend's eyes were closed. He carefully eased Phil's head off his shoulder, before guiding it to lay back against the edge of the raft. Looking up, he shot Mac a glare, but the man ignored him, continuing to stare out into the waves. Louis, slapping him harder than necessary on the arm, ordered harshly, "Switch!" Whether from the sharpness of his voice or the sting of his hand, Mac obeyed him. Louis spared him no more thoughts, grabbing everything he needed before moving over to the other raft.

It worried him to see that Phil had not moved and the blood ran past the bandage, now trailing down the unconscious man's cheek, finally ending at his neck. His face was slack and sheet white, his eyes still shut. Snapping into action, Louis, slipping an arm around his neck and the other under his knees, eased him further down into the raft, laying his body flat, and lifting his feet to rest on its edges. Not wanting to risk further bleeding, he left Mac's shirt in place, and added his own stripes to Phil's head. Saving the last piece, he wadded it up, then pressed it hard against the seeping wound, hoping the pressure would wake his friend up.

"Come on buddy, don't quit on me now," he spoke softly, stroking the blond locks away from his eyes. Grinning, despite the tears welling up in his eyes, he continued,

"I'm gonna bug ya if you don't, I'm just gonna keep on talking and talking and talking, I'll even switch over to Italian if I have to. I could," he stopped at the man's sudden twitch, cradling his head with both hands. Seeing Phil's eyes flicker, he smiled, one hand stroking his cheek, as he urged him on,

"Come on bud, I need you to wake up and talk to me." Phil seemed to hear him, his hands twitching at his side, before his eyes finally opened. They glanced right through Louis for a moment, before clarity returned to the blue irises. The pain seemed to return with it, in full force, as Phil moaned deeply, screwing his eyes shut. Louis' heart ached in sympathy, but he couldn't let him slip back into unconsciousness again.

"Hey, bud, keep your eyes open, look at me," he ordered gently, taking one hand from Phil's cheek to grasp his trembling fingers. Thankfully, Phil responded to the order, though Louis could tell it was taking all he had. Glancing up at the wound, he was relieved to see that the patch, though big, wasn't growing any larger. Looking back down at his friend's face, he smiled reassuringly, hoping to soothe the fear in the bloodshot eyes. Squeezing the cold fingers again, he assured him brightly,

"It's alright, you're gonna be fine." Phil's expression flickered slightly in response, a sad smile crossing over his lips, before he asked, his voice raw and weak,

"You...Mac...okay?"

"We're fine," Louis lied easily, not wanting to mention Mac, "all you have to worry about right now is staying awake."

"I'm trying," Phil replied wearily, struggling to get the words out past shaking lips.

Fear shot through Louis' heart, as he recognized the symptoms of shock. Suddenly realizing that his jacket was almost dry, he carefully eased his hand away from Phil's head, keeping it out of his friend's sight, as he did not want his friend to see the amount of blood that covered it. He waited a moment to make sure the bleeding had stopped, before pulling his jacket off. Glancing over at Mac, who was still gazing out into the ocean, he sighed sadly, before grabbing the man's disregarded jacket.

"Good, nearly dry," he thought optimistically, as he covered Phil in both. He tucked one under his friend's chin and against his sides, before laying the other one over his legs. He knew that he should probably get Phil's wet shirt off, but he didn't dare risk further bleeding. Instead, he quickly unbuttoned his outer shirt, pulling it away from his chest. Seeing his friend's drooping eyes, Louis gently squeezed his shoulder and asked,

"Feel any better?" Not getting an answer, Louis carefully cradled his head again, before a grin lit up his face, as an idea formed. Louis then whistled loudly. Phil jerked, but his head was kept in place by Louis' hands. His eyes opened blearily, before resting on him, with a startled expression in them. While he had his attention, Louis grinned again as he stared whistling the tune to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It got the reaction he was hoping for. Phil stared at him, comical bewilderment filling his eyes, before a smile spread across his face. For a moment, Louis was surprised by how much younger Phil looked, as he had always figured the man to be his senior by a couple of years. A weak laugh slipped out of Phil's throat, as he whispered weakly,

"You...are definitely…one of a kind…Zamperini." Louis bowed his head theatrically in response,

"Thank you, Thank you very much. I am, aren't I?" he chuckled. "You know my mom..." Phil's sudden moan cut off his words.

"What's wrong bud?" Louis asked anxiously, wishing he could do something to help his friend. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shift his head to the side, but Louis' hands again held him steady, as he patiently waited for his answer. Phil finally opened his eyes again, his breathing was a little more ragged, as he glanced up at Louis. He must have seen the worry on his face, because he smiled, despite the obvious line of pain on his face.

"It's hurting...more...than it was," he answered wearily. Sighing in relief, Louis reassured him,

"That's good, mean's you're coming out of shock." Looking at Phil's wounded head, he was relieved to see that the patch was still no bigger. Not wanting to disturb it, he let his hand rest against Phil's damp hair. Looking back down, he caught his friend's questioning glance.

"Just a scratch," he assured, "the ladies will still love you." If Phil didn't believe him, he didn't say so, he just smiled tiredly, muttering,

"Hope so."

Louis could tell that he was still fighting to stay awake, his eyes blinking tiredly against the sun. Trying to think of ways to keep him awake, Louis suddenly realized how little he knew about the man. While both men, since their first meeting, had felt a mutual respect for the other, they simply had never been around one another long enough to get to know one another. The only things that he knew about Phil, was that he was an easy going, good natured fellow, even if he was a little on the quiet side. The skilled pilot also had a surprisingly dry since of humor, Louis realized, recalling the words the man had spoken to him, when he had found him praying on the beach, "My bomber is a dope." This memory brought him to the only other thing he knew about the man, which was his deep, deep faith in his God.

Seeing him bowed so reverently on the beach that day, had puzzled Louis almost in the same way it had always puzzled him watching his parents pray. However, with Phil, it had puzzled him even more. Here was a man like him, who had seen so much horror in this war, had seen almost all of the ugliness the world could spew out, but yet unlike him, still believed in this strange, distant being whom Louis had never been able to understand. He couldn't understand how anyone could put so much trust into someone, they couldn't see or hear or touch. Maybe that was why he had asked him then, "Does he say anything back?" Shaking his head, Louis decided to talk about something a little easier.

"So, where are you from bud, never had a chance to ask you before." He asked, gently squeezing the weary man's hand to get his attention. Drowsy blue eyes regarded him vacantly, before his words finally registered.

"Oh...LaPorte…Indiana," he answered, blinking his eyes and nearly shaking his head. Again, Louis steadied him, keeping one hand on his head. He could tell that his friend was still fighting to stay with him. "That a boy!" Louis praised silently, smiling when Phil asked,

"What about you?"

Though it did fade when Phil shifted his legs, frowning in pain, but he didn't falter, instead answering his question.

"Olean, New York, man! I'll have to take you there one day." Louis said, gently gripping Phil's hand which lay limply against his chest, hoping to help him ride out the pain. Continuing, he grinned,

"Bet a country boy like you's never seen anything like it." He joked. Phil took it good naturedly, giving his hand a squeeze, smiling as he agreed,

"Probably not…. just a lot...of soybeans...corn out in Indiana. I've...always wondered what a skyscraper looks like though." Right then, Louis made his friend a silent promise, that when they got out of this mess, he would take him to New York City.

On and on they talked, and Phil answered for as long as he could, until despite all of Louis' pleadings and shakes, he drifted off, as the sun started dipping into the vast ocean. While Louis had expected inky blackness, as day turned to night, he was surprised to find that the stars still gave him enough light to care for his friend. He had checked Phil's pulse and temperature every couple of minutes, each time relieved to find that they were stable enough. It was nippy without his jacket, but Louis didn't dare take them off his sleeping friend. Thankfully, Mac hadn't seemed to notice the absence of his own. He had been quiet for a while now, finally seeming to drift off to sleep in the other raft. Louis hadn't meant to be so harsh with the bomber. However, he had no patience for people who quit, who gave up. He couldn't stand that.

Glancing back down at Phil, he laid his fingers against his neck, relieved to find a steady, if slightly sluggish pulse. Moving his own shivering hand, to cup Phil's cheek, he frowned at the iciness of it. Worry threatening to overtake him again, he brought both of his hands to his mouth, blowing on them until they were relatively warm. He then took Phil's slack hands into his own, rubbing them, hoping to warm him up.

After doing all he could, Louis tucked them back under the jacket, laying them over his friend's chest. As he did so, his finger rubbed up against something rough and warm. Bending closer, he pulled the object out from under his friend's shirt, to inspect it.

The light from the stars reflected against it, sending a golden ray of light out into the dark water. It was a crucifix, he realized. The figure of a man was etched into its center. Louis had attended enough church and listened to enough of his mother's prayers to recognize the figure. Louis didn't know what the man on the cross meant to him, but he was suddenly struck by the depth of what it must have meant to his friend, to keep it around his neck. To Phil, he realized, this was his whole life.

Sniffling, Louis closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears, letting the cross rest in his hand for a moment. He wanted to believe in this being that his friend revered so much. Opening his eyes, he looked down at his friend, "one of his best" he thought.

Squeezing the object in his hand, he whispered, glancing around awkwardly as he did so,

"My buddy here...he thinks a lot of you. I've never talked to you before, but I'd do just about anything for this guy, even if it meant talking to you. He's a good man, I might deserve to die out here, but he doesn't."

Sighing deeply, he finished quietly, "Please if you're up there and you care…help us."

And for a moment, a deep peace surrounded him. He absently wondered if this was what Phil felt when he talked to the guy.

He then tucked the cross back against Phil's chest, laying it right over his heart. Carefully laying down beside his friend, he wrapped his arm around him. Both the feeling of his friend's steady breaths and the feeling of warm metal finally lulled him to sleep.


End file.
